Against the Terrors
by KHoobs
Summary: A previously abandoned oneshot that I finished for a school assignmnet. Erik's thoughts after Christine removes his mask.


Against the Terrors

Disclaimer: Though I'd like to, I do not own anything pertaining to The Phantom of the Opera, with the exception of several dvds and several soundtracks... and the flute and piano music... and the book... and some pictures... I do, however, own the poem "Against the Terrors" so I would appreciate if it was not stolen. ;D

A/N: I thought I'd just try and write a liddle phanphic one-shot. I was looking through my poems one day, and I reread "Against the Terrors" and it occurred to me that the reason of my writing that was very similar to our beloved Erik. This is after Christine takes Erik's mask off the first time. Anyways, please enjoy! (please refere to the author's note at the end of the story for a bit of an explanation.) This story contains a hint from the book. A rather blunt one, I might add, but cookies to those who find it!

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_Close your eyes against this nightmare,_

_This horror found all around you._

'I can't believe she did it. How could I have let her? Now that she has seen the rot of my curse, I will not get her to come back to her Angel. Not even I am willing to look.' Erik was pacing angrily. He had taken Christine back to her world of light and music. He picked up a large candelabra and threw it hard against the far wall, screaming in rage.

_You can shout out all you can,_

_The shadows swallowed up the sound._

He did not hate Christine for it. He doubted that he could ever truly hate her, no matter what wrongs she did against him. 'I may not hate her, but she is certain to hate me now and fear me even more...' Erik sighed aloud and sat down heavily, burying his face in his hand. After sitting in this self-pitying position for a moment, he got up, all traces of rage now erased from his face. He went to his desk, and proceeded to write a letter or four.

_Against the terrors that are now,_

_Force open your memory and live in the_

_World you made against reality,_

_Your life has fallen out of sight._

Erik sent the letters out to their respected recipients, and went back to his underground home. He sighed, looking around it disdainfully. He had been there so long. Though he had tried many times to forget his life before the Opera house, though the use of morphine, he could not forget the cruelty and the few friendships. But Christine... He would give up everything to hold her, for her to love him. Now she would never return to him. She saw his true face, and he could not hide behind the Angel of Music any longer. She would marry the Vicomte de Changy, and he would be forgotten in his own foolish masquerade.

_Close your eyes against the nonsense,_

_Reality you've pushed away._

_You can cry out all your tears,_

_Saline acid pollutes the soul._

He should have known that he would not be able to hide forever. He had always known that one day Christine would see the true corpse that loved her. Erik had only hoped that she would love him, too. He laughed bitterly, covering the mirror back up that he had revealed earlier. Why couldn't Christine love him? Why couldn't he be a normal man? Tears streamed down his cheeks, making the mask moist. He would never be normal. He was a living corpse, a _fantộme de l'opéra! _He did not eat to live, nor sleep! He was nourished by music and restored by art! No woman would ever look on him in love because he was an angel trapped in a demon's body!

_Against the terrors that you made,_

_Make some more new dreams and make them all so real_

_To fight the world you cannot escape,_

_Your life has slipped out of your grasp._

Erik wiped his face clean and went to the magnificent organ that lined one wall of his fifth-cellar home. On the stand, next to a pen and ink well full of blood red ink stood a thick score. It was nearly complete, after nearly thirty years of being worked on. _Don Juan Triumphant_ would win Christine's heart! Erik began to play the threatening introduction, making changes in the score as he played on. "Christine, you must love me..."

A/N: It's excruciatingly simple, but I had started it several months ago, and then abandoned it. Then suddenly, I found myself in need of a story for school, so I finished it, and got a damn good grade on it, if I do say so myself. Please R/R!


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